We'll turn this life into something good
by public static void
Summary: Merope didn't plan to survive. She thought she would only get to be the woman who named him. Yet, she lived to love her little snake.


This was written for the Mother's Day 2017 Event at **The Golden Snitch**. I chose to use Merope Gaunt, and the prompts I used are: (word) desperate, (object) locket, (setting) Gaunt cottage, (creature) snake, (colour) emerald green), (setting) the orphanage, (word) morbid, (word) sacrifice and (word) love.

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Merope awoke to the darkness and a damp sensation between her legs. Her hands sought her wand, trying to find it without making any noise. It was on the bedside table, set there unceremoniously by the muggle women.

She struggled with it, trying to bring forth her scarce magic to conjure a sphere of light. She knew the words and she had the will, but she lacked the talent of a true witch. Her father and brother had told her that many times.

At least she had been able to save herself.

"I'm coming for you, Tom," she breathed out. Her back ached dully and her lower belly felt odd, but Merope stood, nevertheless. She was afraid of what could happen to her because giving birth could kill even the most powerful witch and she was barely above the squibs in terms of magic. But she could do it for her boy, her sweet Tom.

Her robes had been hastily cut off mid thigh. They were damp with sweat, blood and the water of her womb, while her face was wet with tears. She had cried because of the pain and she had cried even more when she felt herself dying.

But she was still here, in the orphanage where she planned to leave her boy so he could have a life away from her father and her brother (if they ever got out of Azkaban).

She failed at casting the _Lumos_ but it turned out to be a good thing because the matron of the orphanage came in.

The woman did a double take. Her eyes were wide and Merope refrained from looking down (everyone hated how her eyes looked, how her limp hair fell on her shoulders, how her lips were thin and pale...).

"Child, you should be in bed," the matron spoke, closing the door behind her. "It's just as good that you're awake. I was afraid you would die."

Merope heard a hint of worry in the woman's voice and she wished —not for the first time— that she could have gotten to know her mother. Morana Gaunt was only a shadow in Marvolo Gaunt's past, someone who didn't get to know her own daughter. Maybe this woman's voice reflected the worry a mother should have felt for Merope.

"My boy?" she asked, her heart beating uncontrollably.

The woman sighed and left an oil lamp and a tea tray set on the bedside table. From beneath it, she took a basket with clean sheets and proceeded to take off the soiled sheets from the bed to replace them with the clean ones.

"Drink some tea first, girl. It's honeyed to help you regain your strength."

Merope hesitated.

"It will do you good," she insisted and passed the tea to Merope.

Merope took the teacup in shaking hands.

"We need to speak about your baby's future, child," said the matron when she finished with the bed. She took Merope by the elbow and gently sat her on the bed. Merope's back ached.

"Is something wrong with my Tom?"

Tom was her baby, born of the blood of Salazar Slytherin. She might not be a prejudiced person like her father, but she knows the worth of her lineage. There couldn't be anything wrong.

"Nothing is amiss, girl. First, tell me: what is your name?"

"Merope," she answered, proud of the name her mother gave her before she passed. She had planned to be the same to Tom: the memory of a mother who gave him a name. "Merope Riddle."

"Lovely name," the woman said. "Almost as lovely as you."

Merope snorted. Morfin had made sure she knew she was ugly.

"Where is Tom?"

"He is sleeping. You will see him soon."

"I want him now," Merope begged, standing up to the woman. "It was a mistake coming in here. I thought I'd die, ma'am, but I'm well and I'll leave with my son as soon as dawn comes."

The woman smiled again. This time, she went out of the room and Merope sat back on the bed. She played with her cut–off robes when before she used to play with her locket. She needed it back.

"Here, child," the matron said when she came back. In her arms, Tom slept.

Merope took him with care. She had never handled such a fragile creature, much less one she had carried inside her womb for months.

Tom was everything Merope dreamt. His skin was pale pink, soft to the touch. His hair was like his father's: silky, dark brown —but not black like her own. He had nothing from her besides her pure blood, now tainted with that of a muggle.

It didn't matter. This was her child, her love.

"He is beautiful, Merope," called out the matron. When Merope raised her eyes, surprised and intent on thanking her for thinking that, she saw the morbid look in the woman's eyes.

"Too beautiful to be my son," Merope spat out. "He got everything from his father's side."

Except for the blood, she repeated in her mind as she rubbed her nose against Tom's forehead. She could almost smell her own blood in his skin.

"I love you my little snake."

The matron scrunched up her nose and Merope almost laughed. How could this muggle understand?

"Thank you for your care, ma'am. We'll leave now."

She stood from the bed again and made for the door when the woman stopped her, holding her back.

"Let me dress you, at least," she said, though her eyes indicated she wouldn't mind if Merope refused and went on her own, with her cut dress and her bare feet.

Merope almost said no, but this had been a cold month and it snowed outside. It was a beautiful night for her son to be born, but a dangerous night to be outside.

"I'll be back with a dress and a coat for you. Two cloth diapers for him and a blanket."

The wait was not long. Soon, Merope was dressed in an emerald green dress and a heavy grey coat. It was warm enough.

"I wish I could give you more, child," the woman said, shaking her head and putting a couple of coins in Merope's hand. "This is all I have to spare."

Merope nodded. "You helped us, ma'am. That is much more than I expected."

With that, Merope exited the orphanage with Tom against her chest, under the coat.

She hoped they would make it all the way to Little Hangleton.

* * *

Tom's home was small. Sometimes he went to the town and looked at the big house on the hill, wishing he could live there instead, but then he would come back and find his mother at the door and the need would pass.

" _Were you at the town again, Tom?_ " her mother hissed at him, barely moving her lips.

The small, black snake slithering by Tom's feet raised its head and took a look at Tom's mother.

" _I took care of him, witch–mother_ ," the snake told her.

Tom's mother smiled and he smirked a little.

" _I went to the big house, Mother,_ " Tom said. " _It was cleaner than I expected of the muggles._ "

" _You have been spending too much time with my father, little snake,_ " Mother said, kneeling in front of him and smiling at Tom.

He shifted, uncomfortable. His mother's eyes knew everything, even if the muggle kids from the town mocked her for them more often than not.

" _He says I'm a Riddle, Mother,_ " Tom explained, looking out of the window. The big house of the Riddles could be seen from there. Tom often dreamed about a man with dark hair and blue eyes like his own coming to find him, telling him he wished to take him and Mother to the big house. It never happened.

" _You are also a Gaunt, my snake,_ " Mother said with a big grin, taking off the locket she always wore. " _And it's time you wore this. It means we are from Slytherin's line._ "

" _Like Grandfather's ring?_ " Tom asked with bright eyes. He loved the locket, but the ring held deeper secrets. He could feel the tingling in his fingers when he touched it.

" _Better,_ " Mother replied, putting the locket around Tom's neck. " _This locket ties the two of us together, Tommy._ "

He nodded, though he didn't understand his mother's words. Once, Grandfather (drunkenly) told him how she made a sacrifice of their lineage. He also said he was proud of how Mother won the locket back from old Borgin.

"I love you, Mother," he said the words, wondering if his need for her could be called love. He wasn't sure, but saying so was worth it if only to see her smile.


End file.
